Harleen and Her Bat
by LVH
Summary: When the newest addition to the psychology department at the renowned Arkham Asylum, Harleen Quinzel, is given the case of Bruce Wayne, she lets every other opportunity go. Friends are lost, problems are caused, secrets are found... The Prince of Gotham and The Clown Prince of Crime battle it out the old fashioned way - to get the girl. [ Featuring appearances from DCU ]
1. Chapter 1 - Diary (Intro)

Dearest Diary,  
Let me introduce myself. This is a new diary after all, and the first entry I've written in one since I was twelve.  
I'm Harleen Quinzel. DOCTOR Harleen Quinzel.

Even after nine years of school to become a Doctor I keep forgetting to use my newly-acclaimed title.

I'm 26 years old, 5"5, blonde, blue-eyed and an ex-cheerleader/gymnast… I'm assuming you know the drill here. Being short, blonde and fit is great for sweet-talking myself and my best friend Pam (also known as Red) into clubs and concerts, but not so good when you're desperate to become a respected doctor.

I suppose I had a good childhood up until my teenage years. My mother died when I was sixteen after an OD and ever since that moment I knew in my heart that I wanted to help troubled people just like my dear Mother. My father, being the only other inspiration I've ever had in my life, has always doubted my dreams of a psychological career. He always wanted me to become a pharmacist, which I blatantly refused. I'm certainly very headstrong when it comes to the things I'm passionate about.

I've recently become a psychologist at Arkham Asylum, Gotham City. My internship finished a year ago and I had the choice to stay at Arkham, or move to Blackgate. I chose the latter simply because I was more comfortable having my one good doctor friend, Guy Kopski, to stick with rather than going to a whole new place and starting all over again.

Today Dr. Joan Leland called me to her office, which made me think I'd done something wrong instantly. Leland never had one good thing to say to me than 'goodbye'. Anyhow, I strolled into her office at 9AM on the dot to be greeted by Leland who wore a smacked-ass expression on her face. Nothing changes huh? She pretty much sat me down and told me that there's gonna be a huge meeting with the Asylum's board members and myself, because they're assigning new 'more challenging' patients. I couldn't help but chuckle when she told me because my only current patients right now are a woman who killed her family because 'her cat told her to' and I also get a few other people throughout the weeks. Oh, boy. Now that I think about it, this is huge. I'm actually being given a responsibility…. A big one…. By Joan Leland. I need to call Red…

But yeah, BIG DAY FOR QUINNY TOMORROW. Wish me luck!

Harls


	2. Chapter 2

"Bruce Wayne. My first patient." Harley muttered to herself before sipping the piping hot coffee from the pathetic paper cup. She entered her office and perched on the chair, pushing her fringe from her face and removing her glasses as she turned her PC on. Why would Bruce Wayne need counselling? Better yet, why would Bruce Wayne need counselling at all? Tapping her fingers on her desk, she waited. And then she remembered. "Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne, passed away last night..." The newscasters voice ran through her mind and she let out a sigh, hand running through her hair. The computer was now fully loaded, and she clicked on Bruce's file; Parents died when he was age eight, he was left alone with the entire Wayne Estate with one man who was his mother, father, butler, friend... This guy had been through a lot. There was a lot more to Bruce Wayne than met the eye. And he sure was easy on the eye... Harley gasped at her thoughts and giggled uneasily to herself.

She looked up as she heard the familiar knock on the large security door which kept her office safe. With a deep breath and a few clicks of her mouse, she finally spoke. "Come in." The door opened for Harleen to be greeted by Doctor Jonathan Crane - the strange guy who worked in the chemicals side of things. All Harley knew about him was that he was into fears and the way they affected people. She greeted him with a warm smile, to which he returned it and added a nod of his head. He sat in the chair in front of her desk, holding a hand out for a shake.

"Jonathan Crane." He said simply, his manly but high voice accented strongly.

Harleen returned the shake firmly, smile still evident on her child-like features. "Harleen Quinzel. It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr Crane."

He nodded once again, perching on the chair and watching Harley's each move intently. Things were awkwardly silent for a few moments, Harley's eyebrow raising a little as she waited for the frail-looking male to speak.

"I came to have a word with you... about a new patient," He remarked, only to be interrupted by the blondes next statement.

"Bruce Wayne?"

"Uh, no. Unknown real name, alias is The Joker. Around six feet tall, green hair and eyes, sick grin constantly painted on his pallor face?"

Harleen shook her head. "Never heard of him."

Jonathan exhaled deeply though his nose, nostrils flared a little. He sat back in the uncomfortable chair, his blue hues practically staring into Harley's. There was no better way to describe his gaze than how much it burned. She furrowed her brow awkwardly, nuzzling her glasses up her button nose.

"He's the clown terrorist, he calls himself the new era of criminal. The Clown Prince of Crime. Nobody knows where he comes from, what made him this way... there's no records, no fingerprints. Nothing. He's being shipped in from Belle Reve, having been too chaotic. Originally he was thought of as a petty criminal, one who wasn't necessarily insane but certainly needed to be locked away, and in my opinion they should have thrown away the key," A growl escaped Jonathan's plump lips before he scooted his positioning, continuing with the information. "But, he's crazy, mental even. He isn't the type of person Belle Reve - and Waller - want the public to see. If they fail with him, then what will happen? Their 'perfect' little prisons reputation... well, it will be just as bad as ours. And that's where you step in, Miss Quinzel."

Behind Harley's thickly framed glasses, her eyes had a significant look of worry in them. They blinked back nervous tears - Harley had only just gotten this job and sure as hell wasn't ready for such responsibilities.

"Where, exactly?" She asked, picking at her fingernails nervously.

"We want you to take on the clown. From what little intel we have on him, he's closest to your age. And we don't want a more... well, an older doctor to take him on," He said, a somewhat mischievous smirk curving on his lips. "What I'm trying to say is, we don't want a practiced air about you. Strange and I - Strange, the psychologist from Belle Reve, feel as though this could kick-start a helluva career for you, Quinzel. He's dangerous, he's frowned upon by the whole city and maybe even the whole country. If you could fix him, or at least help him, which I believe you could, looking at the success rates of yours while you interned here," Jonathan's hands clapped together in an impressed manner, even though Harley hadn't even taken in his words just yet, let alone fixed this psychopathic clown. "Then you would be the nations sweetheart. You could bring the respect back to Arkham."

Harley gulped. That's about all she could do. Her legs crossed over each other, her arms resting on her desk. She used one hand to push the platinum blonde strand of her fringe from her face, her vocal chords still practically frozen. Glancing down at her feet, she grumbled a little, attempting to make some words come out of her mouth. Jonathan remained in his relaxed position, as seemingly calm as ever, watching her every movement.

His eery gaze was fixed on her hanging head for the three minutes of silence, before Harleen finally found it in herself to speak. She looked up confidently, head held high as she scooted the chair closer to the desk. Arms now folded, she took a more professional position and shook her head.

"I'm afraid I can't take you up on that offer." She remarked simply, much to Jonathan's anger and disgust which had practically appeared from nowhere. "I'm nowhere near experienced enough, not even close. I wouldn't want to mess this man up further; I mean, imagine what would happen if I drove him crazier, perhaps? He needs real help, not mine, not yours, not Strange's... real, strong, professional help. Ever been to Metropolis, Dr Crane?"

Jonathan growled deeply from his throat, shifting his position a little and moving his chair forward.

"No, I haven't."

"There's a wonderful man I trained at Metropolis U with. I was only there for a course back last year, but he takes high interest in extreme personalities, not that I don't, but..." She trailed off before gathering her thoughts again. She had a habit of getting lost in that mind of hers. "Very brave man, handsome too." With a shrug of her shoulders, she looked back to her computer screen; waiting for an outburst from the fellow doctor in her office. He growled once more, standing up and walking to the door, not looking back until his roughly skinned fingers grazed the door handle, eyes burning into Harley's once again. "I'm sure you'll regret that, Quinzel. I gave you a chance, remember that. Remember who's side you could really be working on."

And with that, he left, leaving Harley in a state of complete and utter confusion. Deep breaths were taken before she decided that this was none of her concern, however Dr Crane's sanity certainly was. As she picked up the office phone to call Quincy Sharp - Current Warden of Arkham Asylum - there was a quick few taps on the door.

Harley sighed, standing up and strolling towards it. As she made her way over, she glanced at the watch wrapped around her wrist. '17:45PM' it read. Had Jonathan really been in there that long? Harley panicked before pulling herself together, opening the door and meeting the glistening eyes she had only ever seen in the newspapers, which were considerably more breathtaking in real life. Her mouth fell agape as she realised who it was - Bruce Wayne, the real prince of Gotham.

"Doctor Quinzel." Bruce remarked, his deep and strong voice ringing throughout the room as he shut the door behind him. The trademark, charming smile which made Harleen and Pamela swoon each time they saw it was evident on his handsome and chiseled face, which was sporting a five o clock shadow which sent Harley in to a bit of an internal frenzy. Harley returned the smile almost timidly, taking his hand - which was considerably bigger than her own, baring in mind that Bruce was at least a foot taller than Harleen - and shaking it with firmness.

"Call me Harley, Mr Wayne. Everybody does."


	3. Chapter 3

"Harley. Harley..." Bruce smiled once again, eyes locked on the petite females. "I prefer to call professionals by their titles, Doctor Quinzel."

"Very well," Harleen remarked with a small chuckle, strolling back behind her desk and collecting her clip board and pile of files, a pencil and grabbing a cloth of which polished her glasses. She gave a quick nod before guiding him to the 'therapy' part of the room. He perched on the lounger almost awkwardly, his muscular frame appearing rather out of place compared to the dark red lounger and the girly furniture behind him. He chuckled under his breath and loosened his collar a little.

Harleen bit her lip, shuffling the multiple files in her lap a little nervously, seeing as this was the 'Doctors' first patient. Inhaling sharply, she looked back up and nodded before making herself comfortable - well, about as comfortable as somebody could get in a wooden chair like this one.

"Would you like to begin, Mr Wayne?"

"You're the professional here, Doctor Quinzel," Bruce said, leaning back in the chair. "And it's Bruce. You can call me Bruce."

"Right." She continued with a small smile. "First off, let's start with the generic stuff. How are you feeling today?"

"Well, um... You know..."

It was as if his confident exterior had been knocked down... Harley took note of this, of course, her facial expression softening as she watched him. Bruce took a deep breath, his jaw clenching slightly. He looked down at his hands, which were clasped together and placed in his lap, his eyes taking long blinks as if he were holding back tears. Harleen furrowed her brow, leaning over and patting his knee reassuringly.

"You can talk to me. That's why I'm here, Bruce."

His lips curled back up in to that familiar smile as he glanced back up at her, a sigh drawn from his lips as he did so.

"It's been three months today."

"Since... Since," Harley stuttered, not wanting the words to come out wrong - which they usually did.

"You can say it. I don't really want to."

Harley took a quick note and nodded, "Since your sons passing?"

Taking yet another deep breath - Harley had now assumed this was his way of calming down, he nodded and shut his eyes once again.

"Yes. Since Damian's death."

"I'm sorry. To hear that, for the sadness you must be going through. But I'm here, the whole of Gotham is here for you, Bruce. You shouldn't forget that," She had looked away, out through the grubby window. She saw his face from the corner of her eyes drop as she spoke, shaking her head slightly. "And I know, saying all these things won't really help how you're feeling, that it won't bring Damian back. But," Her blue hues shifted to his once again, his fidgeting distracting her greatly. "But, speaking helps. It won't fix things forever, but it helps... numb the pain you're feeling."

Bruce seemed rather awestruck at her musings, his mouth slightly agape. "Y...yes. You're the doctor. I trust you." With a small nod, he blinked a few times and shifted his positioning to face her. "I suppose my... hardened exterior has shattered. He was my son, Doc- Harley. He was my pride and j-joy."

Each word, each stutter, each breath of composure proved something to Harley. The pure sincerity, the true love he felt... the broken man beneath the suit and tie was starting to show. She couldn't help but lean over and place a comforting hand on his knee, looking at him with a face full of sorrow.

"I'm sorry for... for your loss." She said simply, her voice a breathy whisper. A simple shake of the head was all he gave in reply, his facial expression somewhat emotionless.

"You don't need to be."

And with that brief sentence, Bruce stood up and straightened his suit out. Harleen stood up out of sheer confusion and looked up at the male with a creased brow, clipboard still held firmly in her hand. To her utter surprise, he gently took hold of one of her hands and brought it to his lips, her heart beginning to race. She felt her face warm up, a bright crimson blush sure to be spread across her cheeks. With one final charming smile, Bruce lowered her hand.

"Thank you, Doctor Quinzel. I'll be seeing you tomorrow, I trust?"

"Y-yes, of course," She gave him a slight nod, her unbreakable gaze still fixed on him.

"I look forward to it."

Then he left, leaving Harley extremely bewildered and a little flustered. She needed to calm herself. Wandering to her desk once more, she began reading over her notes.

"Stay professional... All of the time." She murmured silently to herself, humming softly as she pushed her glasses up her button nose.


	4. Chapter 4

After Harleen's session with Bruce, her shuffling of papers and the usual routine work, she picked up her mobile and instantly dialled for Pam. She had decided against telling her who the new case she had been assigned was, thinking that the fangirling would be too much over the phone, worse due to Harleen's stress given by Crane and headache, given by the environment.

She sighed softly switched on the computer. As she waited for it to start up, she finally heard the end of the irritating dial tone on the other end of the phone.

"Oh, you decided to acknowledge me today, huh?" Pam's husky voice purred down the phone.

"I've, um, been very busy. With a new; well, my first, patient." Harleen replied, a highly excited yet nervous tone in her voice.  
"Oh, really?!" She asked, her voice sounding as if her lips were pulled into a smile.

"Well, isn't that fabulous? What's the case? Would I be inter-"

"Shhh!" Harley laughed, taking a deep breath, "It's nothing too exciting. But it's very exciting to finally have something to do here, instead of eating donuts in the staff room and being argued with."

Pam huffed quietly, her tone changing to an irritated one, "Who argues with you? And those donuts better have organic flavouring or I'll have to come up there and give ol' Quincy a piece of my mind."  
"U-uh..."

Harleen knew how protective Pamela got over her. It was almost like having a big intellectual, environmentalist, botanist sister half of the time, then the other half she had an irresponsible best friend who often encouraged her to try the wacky drinks, foods and sometimes drugs, that Pam had created during her time, especially when one of her many boyfriends visited the apartment, usually accompanied by an attractive friend. Due to the fact that Harley hadn't dated anybody since her college sweetheart Guy Kopski, who had, to say the least, taken advantage of Harley, Pam was eager to set her up with anybody she could get her hands on. But back to the point, Harley's head began to spin before she could possible speak, knowing full well that as well as beating Quincy's ass for their corporate sugar-filled food items, she would possibly have it in her to beat Jonathan's too.

"Well, here's the thing. Those donuts a-aren't organic. AND, it was Doctor Crane. Nothing too serious, honestly."

"For the love of..." Pamela inhaled sharply before continuing, "Number one, I'll give you a box of those new sweets that they gave me at work, number two, what the hell happened?"

Harley shut her eyes, her free hand's fingers rubbing her temple, "I'll tell you when I get home. There's, uh, uhh... someone at the door."

"Bu-"

"Sorry, Red. Love ya."

"Har- yeah. Whatever. Love you too, princess." She laughed, a beep confirming the end of the phonecall.

Just a few seconds later, yet another beep rang throughout the quiet office, to which Harley of course checked her mobile.

A text read,

'I actually called to see if you wanted to go to the Iceberg Lounge when you're done with work. I'll pick you up in the car park, I got clothes in the boot. Xoxo, Pamela.'

Harley felt a small smile upon her face, pulling her glasses off and wiping the excess mascara from underneath her eyes. Tonight sure would be a long night.

At 8:00PM sharp, a loud honk was heard from outside of the asylum, Harley instantly springing to her feet and peering out of her window to see a flash of red hair through a green car's window, the sight never failing to bring a smile to her face. Gathering her paperwork, jacket and her bag, she gave the orderlies a nod, and left the stuffy hospital. Walking closer to Pam's car, Harley noticed a dark haired male sitting in the passenger seat.  
His broad shoulders, the expertly styled quiffed hair, the suit... No, no. It couldn't be.

"C'MON QUINZEL!" Pam yelled, her teeth bared in an ecstatic grin. Harley's slow strides quickly changed to a sprint, her legs moving almost as fast as they did in the run-up to one of her gymnastic shows.

"What the-" Harley uttered as she arrived at the car's side, her gaze meeting Bruce Wayne's.

"Doctor Quinzel," He winked, his lips curled upwards in an almost mischievous smirk. Harley furrowed her brow, half-heartedly smiling back at the playboy, eyes switching to Pam, giving a 'what the hell?' expression before opening the door, sitting in the back of the car. Through gritted teeth, Harley finally spoke,

"Mr Wayne, what is-"

"My car broke down, your friend here was kind enough to give me a lift to where my butler is. He couldn't get into the asylum and its simply too far to walk, Harleen." Bruce interrupted.

Completely disregarding his statements, Harley pulled her glasses off and held them in her lap.

"I'm sure I've been over this. Call me Harley, everyone does." She smiled, seeing Pam in the mirror mouth her each word from the corner of her eye.

"Of course, Harley." He replied, flashing yet another wink in her direction as the car revved to a start, advancing towards the exit of the asylum.

"Harls, there's a bag in the back there. It's got your clothes inside, you can't exactly wear that..." Pam giggled, gesturing to Harley's black, pin striped pencil skirt and her grubby red shirt.

Harley playfully rolled her eyes and grabbed hold of the bag, peering inside with a grimace. She pulled out a red cocktail dress, her mouth falling agape at the very sight of it.

"Red, we're only going to the Lounge!" Harley exclaimed, holding the dress up.

"Yes, but you gotta look nice, you never know who you're gonna meet, Quinzel." Pam replied, a warm expression upon her delicate features.

"Pam, I wish you'd-"

Harley was once again interrupted by the great Bruce Wayne, his obviously trimmed right eyebrow raised slightly, "Where are you ladies going this evening?"

"The Iceberg Lounge." The girls said in unison, their tones awfully different: Harley's a tone of irritation and Pam's almost smug.

"That sounds divine, would you mind if one more joined?"

"Absolutely not!" Pam exclaimed, her smile almost as wide as the Cheshire cat's.

With a loud and highly exaggerated sigh, a feeling of mixed emotions bubbling inside of her as she watched the millionaires each movement. She wasn't sure what it was about Bruce, whether it was his charming, pretty-boy good looks, the fact that he had money, the way he walked, talked, acted... Or his sweet, baby blue eyes... Or his kind, caring, friendly personality...

Harley soon snapped out of her daydream and felt the colour of her cheeks darken at the fact that she had just spent however long staring at him. His gaze, on the other hand was fixed upon the large iron gates of Arkham Asylum, giving a two fingered wave towards an elderly man in a black car. Harleen wasn't sure what the exact name of the vehicle was, but she knew it was probably ridiculously expensive.

"There's Alfred." He said simply, unwinding the window while Harley ducked down, hiding from view as she began unbuttoning her shirt. She hoped nobody was watching, seeing as she was overly self-conscious about not only her figure, but her looks too. Pam always told her that she was perfect looking, a little petite but she had flowing blonde hair, bright, sparkling blue eyes, dainty facial features, a gymnasts body, and she sure wasn't small in the breast and booty department. It was always a surprise for Harley, and Harley alone for that matter, whenever a guy flirted with her. Hell, if a guy looked at her she got ridiculously overwhelmed.  
She removed her shirt completely, quickly throwing the dress over her head before anybody could see or notice her slender form. Bruce was pre-occupied with Alfred, and Pam was pre-occupied with Bruce.

She stood up, her back hunched so she wouldn't hit her head on the roof – if she was going out this evening, especially in Bruce's company, the last thing she would need was a bump on the head – and wriggled her skirt off, folding it neatly before placing it on the seat next to her. She gingerly pulled her hair from the tight bun on the back of her head, letting the slightly messy wavy hair cascade down her back. Pam glanced back to the now dressed-up female, her eyes widening at the very sight of her best friend.

"You scrub up wonderfully!" She exclaimed, letting out a quiet giggle as she did so.

"I'll say." Bruce added, turning his head as Alfred began to drive off. Harley, once again, felt her cheeks heat up slightly, her arms instinctively folding across her chest.

"Time to get tipsy, loves. To the Iceberg Lounge!" Pam smiled, the thought of a drunk Harley causing her to snicker quietly. Bruce gave both of the females a nod, as the red haired siren began to drive once again.

'To the end of my dignity,' Harley thought.


End file.
